


Safer Before You Rescued Me

by spinner_atropos



Category: Extreme Ghostbusters (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Transformation, UST, episode 11 the crawler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-11-21 14:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18143408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner_atropos/pseuds/spinner_atropos
Summary: You don't get changed into a bug and back and just walk it off.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mmmkay so I'm going to become That Guy and post this in chapters because if I wait until it's all done the universe will be dust. However the way my life goes I might end up posting just this chapter and never anything else.
> 
> If I do post more chapters, be warned that due to the way I write I may end up going back and changing shit in previous chapters.
> 
> Heavy spoilers for "The Crawler," clearly.

She felt like hell--her head was pounding and the surface she was lying on was hard and uncomfortable. She groaned as she opened her eyes to the orange-yellow light of streetlamps and four concerned faces gathered around her. She put a hand to her forehead and blinked, but nothing changed. She frowned slightly at Egon, who was closest. "What’s going on?" She turned her head to the side, looking at the ships in the docks. "Where are we?"

Eduardo looked at her strangely. "We just busted Papa Grande." When she didn't respond he clarified, "You were the one who trapped him."

"Temporary memory loss isn't entirely unexpected," Egon said. "Memory of what?" she asked, feeling completely lost. She got to her knees, then closed her eyes against a sudden wave of nausea. It didn't help and she fell to all fours and was sick.

"You passed out as we were leaving the warehouse," Kylie said.

"You might want to lie down again," Egon said, catching her by the shoulders as she attempted to stand again. She didn't protest as he eased her back down to sit on the pavement.

"What warehouse?" They all just looked at her. "I feel awful," she complained, briefly struck by another wave of nausea. Ecto's distinctive siren became audible.

Garrett grinned. "Roland to the rescue. I think he's enjoying himself."

"Can you stand up now?" Kylie asked Janine.

"Guess we'll find out." She accepted her hands and let herself be pulled up--she made a slight face, but stood unassisted, and wasn't sick again. "I'm fine," she grumbled, waving away Roland and Egon as they tried to help her into the car.

***

"What do you remember?" Egon asked, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror.

"Coming back from dinner," she said absently, staring into space as she thought. She met his eyes briefly. "You practically threw him out of the firehouse." He looked away from her accusing glare. "I told him--we talked outside and then--" The memories slipped out of her grasp like beads of mercury. All she could get was a vague, distant sense of horror.

"Your memory should come back over time. The immediate concern is your physical health."

"I seem to be in one piece," she snapped. "Please tell me what it is I'm not remembering."

"Not until you've been medically evaluated."

Janine looked at passing street signs--they were obviously not headed for the firehouse. "Evaluated for _what_?"

“...I’m not sure. Anything. Signs of trauma.”

“What, we just walk in and tell them something might be wrong but we don’t know what?”

"Tell them you've had a fainting spell and memory loss." Egon was starting to rise to her confrontational tone. "That's all the information they need."

"Well, it's not all the information _I_ need. I look like I've been dragged through the streets, I feel awful, I've forgotten the last few hours, and _you won't even tell me what happened to me_. I'm not going anywhere until I know what the hell is going on." Her voice cracked.

"We can get basic vital signs at the firehouse," Kylie jumped in before Egon could respond.

"Yeah, and we're not exactly persona grata at the hospitals anyway," Garrett said. "They woulda thrown us out earlier if they hadn't been so busy with the bugs."

Egon didn't say anything, but set his jaw and changed course.

***

Janine refused all assistance in getting out of the car once they arrived at the firehouse, though she'd started feeling a little green again. She let Egon chivvy her upstairs with a minimum of protest while the kids put away the equipment. As soon as they reached the third floor she rounded on him. "Egon Spengler, if you don't tell me what's going on _right now_ \--" She broke off, then made an unceremonious dash for the bathroom.

Unlike ordinary illness like the flu, being sick again didn't seem to ease the nausea. Her head was pounding and she felt weak and drained, her entire body sore as if she'd spent her missing hours moving furniture. A nap sounded like a really, really good idea right now.

She got herself looking reasonably presentable and emerged from the bathroom to find Kylie and Egon in the bunkroom looking serious. "--physical backlash from the sudden reversal," Egon was saying. She froze them in place with a basilisk glare and made her way unassisted to the bunk that had been readied for her, various medical and ectoplasmic diagnostic devices laid out on the bedside table.

She half-reclined as gracefully as she could, trying to retain what was left of her dignity. She didn't think she'd even seen half of the devices Egon had ready, and it was starting to undo the last of her self-composure.

Roland and Eduardo came up the stairs as Egon started his PKE scan, and from the lab she could hear the sound of the lift. Her particular misery was most certainly _not_ loving company right now. "Well, since you're all here, will someone _please_ \--" she paused as her voice threatened to waver--"tell me what happened? I feel like I have a right to know."

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken finally by Eduardo's usual lack of tact. "You really don't remember anything? Not even when Egon said--" He yelped as Kylie whacked him on the arm and gave him one of her looks of death.

"You've suffered an involuntary transformative episode. Your 'friend' Greg was a South American insect demon. He abducted you and turned you into an insect as well. The abrupt reversal of that transformation may be the reason for your memory block. It should come back given time and rest. Auto accident victims sometimes experience a similar phenomenon." He never once looked up from the screens of his devices. Some bedside manner.

She felt another wave of nausea and closed her eyes. The idea should have been terrifying, but she still came up against a blank wall when she tried to find actual memories, and the vague, unpleasant emotions she could feel were too distant to really be upsetting.

Besides, she was so tired that she couldn't think straight. "Do I _want_ to remember?"

"Probably not," Roland said.

"Maybe just the end," Eduardo added, grinning.

Kylie cuffed him again. "Can it," she muttered.

"C'mon, can't I just tell her about the part where--"

Kylie launched a full-scale attack as Slimer floated into the room, babbling happily at finding all the humans together in one place. He bobbed toward Janine and then froze, looking suddenly worried. "J'neen?" He rose up above Egon's head to see what was going on. "Badbadbad! Hurt J'neen?"

"Janine will be fine, Slimer," Egon said, trying to wave him away. "She needs to rest."

Slimer mumbled suspiciously to himself and floated to the other side of the bed, looking for reassurance from Janine herself. "I'm okay, Slimer," Janine told him. "I just really need a shower and some sleep right now."

"I think Eduardo has a sandwich in his locker," Garrett said. "I bet you can't find it."

Slimer brightened and darted out the door and down the stairs. Eduardo gave Garrett a dirty look. "All my stuff is gonna be soaked."

"It gets him out of our hair for a while."

Egon finished his tests. "Residual energy levels are still high, and the pattern is very similar to our readings from earlier. I suspect it will break down as the energy dissipates, but I'd like to get periodic readings to be sure. You'll need to stay overnight to be monitored."

His tone and obvious assumption that she'd agree to this plan irritated her, but she was too sick and sore and tired to fight about it right now. "Only if you're not all going to sit around and watch me."

Egon dug out a nightshirt for her and the team trickled out of the room one by one, murmuring various words of well-wishing as they went. "Considering the circumstances, class for today is canceled," Egon announced as he followed them, pulling the door shut.


	2. Chapter 2

Her hose were a total loss; she threw them out.  Her blazer and skirt hadn't fared a lot better; hems and seams were frayed and torn out, and they were stained here and there with unidentifiable substances.  She shivered but hung them up anyway; there was an off chance they'd be salvageable after a thorough cleaning and repair. Her blouse, at least, had been spared the worst of it.  She rinsed it out in the sink and hung it over the shower rod. The frames of her glasses were a little banged up, but it was getting to be time for a new pair anyway.

She took a shower, trying to ease the ache in her muscles as well as get the miscellaneous grime off.  It helped, but didn't really rid her of the persistent creepy-crawly feeling. She stood under the hot water as long as she could stand it, and finally got out when her skin had turned red.

She returned to the bunkroom and pulled the nightshirt over her head.  The excess length puddled around her feet and her fingertips barely extended past the ends of the sleeves.  She snorted as she waded back to her bunk, stealing a pillow from one of the others as she passed.

The unfamiliar fabric of the nightshirt was making her skin crawl in an unsettling way.  She had a sudden tactile memory of being wrapped in a hard, unyielding substance, limiting her movement and isolating her from the outside world--

She blinked and realized she was standing next to the bed shaking, her heart racing and her breathing fast and out-of-control.  She considered finding Egon just for the human company, but settled on opening the door a few inches so she didn't feel so closed in.  She turned off the lights and returned to bed, the nightshirt and covers weighing her down. Taking the shirt off didn't seem to be a good option so she lay down on top of the sheets, wrapped her arms around her borrowed pillow, and drew her knees up inside the voluminous garment. Everything would seem better after a good night's sleep, right?

***

Constant nausea was not conducive either to falling asleep or to sleeping well.  Neither was a raging headache and aches in all her muscles. Tossing and turning tangled her up in her nightshirt, setting off another attack of claustrophobia.  That in turn tipped her over the edge of nausea, necessitating another dash to the bathroom. The lab door was closed, the floors below looked dark, and there was no sound from Egon.  The feeling of complete isolation increased her anxiety.

She went back to bed and tried to get comfortable.  She ended up half on her back, her extra pillow wedged under her head and shoulder, and finally drifted off into another uneasy doze.

***

There was a face in front of her, something alien and monstrous, antennae and huge eyes and mandibles that could tear steel, and it was speaking in Greg's voice.  The world was broken into thousands of tiny pieces that her brain couldn't process, and Greg's voice was overwhelming, thundering against her chest. She couldn't move, and when she tried to scream she could barely force out a squeak.

Janine jolted awake, her nightshirt cold and clammy with sweat.  There was a face in front of her, something alien with huge eyes--

Her muscles obeyed her this time and she shrieked, grabbing a pillow and swinging it as hard as she could.  It caught Slimer amidships, knocking him several feet and sliming the pillow thoroughly. "Goddammit, Slimer, don't _ do _ th--"

He sailed out of the room and into the lab before she could get going, helpfully calling "Egon!  J'neen 'wake!"

***

She gave him the most baleful look she could muster as he ran his battery of tests.  "How do you feel?" he asked dispassionately.

"My head aches, my body aches, I'm more tired than when I went to bed, I don't know what time it is--or what _ day _ \--and I feel like I haven't had anything to drink in three days.  And _ then _ I wake up to find Slimer in my face, apparently on your orders."  Slimer was hovering near the ceiling in one corner, watching her warily.

She felt her anger falter, however, as she broke out into a cold sweat.  She sat up, gathering the hem of her nightshirt in one hand. "'Scuse me."  She bolted for the bathroom.

Egon was wearing his concern face when she returned, trying to look like she had things under control.  She gave him another glare as she returned to bed. "Stop looking at me like that. If I think I'm gonna turn into a bug again I'll let you know."  She laid down and put a cool cloth on her forehead. She unfolded it so it covered her whole face; maybe if she couldn't see him he'd go away.

"How frequently has this--?"

"Every hour or two, I don't know.  I haven't been keeping track."

"It's most likely an effect of the physical disruption of the transformation, but it's still worrisome."  He left the room for a moment, then there was the _ clunk _ of a glass of water on the night table.

"I've been sicker than this with the flu, Egon."

"If I even think you're getting dehydrated you're going to the hospital whether you like it or not."

"Sure, whatever."  The nausea had ebbed again, but she didn't have the energy to argue right now.  "You don't have anything helpful around, do you? Vicodin? Morphine?"

She removed the cloth from her eyes to see him finally glance up from the PKE meter's screen, and she couldn't tell if he were amused or annoyed.  "Only Tylenol."

"Not even cold medicine?"

"Sorry."

"You're either sickeningly healthy or the most boring person I've ever known."

"Surely not the _ most _ boring."

She snorted.  "Okay, not the _ most _ .  Most people don't blow stuff up on a regular basis."

He smiled very slightly.  "You might consider the Tylenol for the pain."

"Better than nothing, I guess."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this chapter idea was the kick in the ass I needed to actually work on this.
> 
> Also, I think the closest thing to canonical sources spell "Cojila" a different way, but this is my way and I'm sticking to it. :P

Daylight was shining into the room when she was awakened by the creaking of the hallway floor.  Janine realized she was shaking and stopped herself from calling for help, afraid she'd give herself away.  The others had said Gregor had been trapped, but she didn't remember doing it. What if they were wrong?

She wasn't in any shape to run, and logic said it wasn't Cojila… right?  She slid quietly off the bed, gathering up her nightshirt in one hand. She made it across the room without the floor creaking, skirting the line of sight of the doorway, and pulled the door sharply open.

Egon looked startled, then guilty, then worried.  "You're still having trouble sleeping."

"Apparently so are you if you're sneaking around trying to give me a heart attack!"

"I'm up for the day.  I was trying not to disturb you."

"If you'd just walked like normal then at least I'd know it was you."  She folded her arms across her chest and tried to relax. "And no, I'm not sleeping well, I'm a little jumpy.  What time is it?"

"A little after nine."

"I guess I might as well get up.  Do you have something I can wear other than this?  I'm going to trip and kill myself."

"I can find something."

Egon produced an old T-shirt and some sweatpants from somewhere.  The pants weren't long enough to be his, but they were still too long for her.  She rolled up the waist to try to make them stay above her hips. The plain grey shirt hung almost to her knees.  She felt a little weird about the fact that she didn't know whose clothes she was wearing, but as slovenly as she felt, it was still better than the nightshirt.

***

The day was so long when you didn't have anything to _do_.  Besides canceling class, Egon had declared business closed for the day, letting the machine pick up any calls.  On one hand, she felt weird and tired from last night, but she didn't want to spend the night awake again because she'd slept all day... and she was a little afraid to sleep.  If she let her mind drift too far things came back in snatches of sound and image.

She found a paperback in her desk, but she'd read it not too long ago and it wasn't holding her interest.  The first Raid commercial she saw on TV would probably undo her, and she didn't even want to think about what might happen if she saw a real roach.

She couldn't come up with a good excuse to bother Egon, and didn't think she wanted to.  On a normal day they were still walking on eggshells around each other, and now they'd be on each others' nerves enough by the time he let her go home.  He was alternating between hovering over her and ignoring her completely, and it was driving her crazy.

Maybe she'd better just give up on men altogether.  Like the blind dates with her parents' friends' sons and cousins and nephews weren't bad enough, this one had turned her into a bug.  Apparently you couldn't trust strange men who retrieved your groceries in dark alleys; go figure.

***

Her nails looked as if she'd been clawing at concrete.

Maybe she had.  She avoided thinking about in case it triggered memories.

A few minutes rummaging through her desk drawers--had she really accumulated so much crap in such a short time?--turned up the necessary supplies.  It also encouraged her to clean out and organize her desk, something she'd been putting off but that felt reassuringly mundane.

After her desk was done She put on a Debussy piano CD she found in the pile and a whole new set of muscles made themselves known as she sat cross-legged at the rec room coffee table and arranged bottles and tools.

The familiar ritual of removing old polish, trimming and filing, washing, and re-polishing killed some time and made her feel a little more grounded in reality.  Having her nails presentable again, if shorter than normal, made her feel a bit more human too.

Drinking lots and lots of water--and then going back and forth to the bathroom--helped pass the time too.  She felt a little less hung over, and she was damned if she was going to the hospital for dehydration. As afternoon started turning into evening she decided she needed a change of pace, and found lemon juice in the fridge and sugar in the cupboard for lemonade.

There was a pitcher on the top shelf of the cabinet, well beyond her reach.  She didn't feel like clambering up on the counter like a six-year-old, assuming her abused muscles would let her, and wasn't about to ask Egon to do it for her.  Just for the hell of it she opened the cabinet next to the fridge and discovered her step-stool still in place.

Winston had built it and surprised her with it for Secretary's Day one year after she'd complained for the millionth time about not being able to reach the upper shelves.  It was tall enough to let her reach things, and folded to fit in the narrow cabinet.

There was absolutely no reason for it to still be there--Egon could reach the upper shelves without even stretching--but the layer of dust on it suggested that it hadn't been touched since she'd left.

It was such a little thing, and such a stupid thing, but she broke down standing in the middle of the kitchen.  Of course that was when Egon reappeared, his voice startling her. "Are you all right?"

She wiped at her cheeks, trying to get herself under control.  "No." She took the paper towels he offered. "It's not even about what happened, that's the stupid part."  She gestured vaguely at the open cabinet. "You guys went through worse than this, and you didn't cry all the time about it."

"I would say that being transformed into an insect is as horrifying as what any of the rest of us went through.  And--you didn't always see everything. Partly to keep you from worrying any more than you did, and partly for our own pride."

She considered this.  "So how much crying *was* there?"

"I don't think I'm at liberty to say."

She surprised herself with a weak giggle.  "Now I'm picturing Venkman bursting into tears at the drop of a hat."

He made a sound of amusement.  "I should have known that appealing to your _schadenfreude_ would make you feel better.  Have you eaten much today?"

"Not really."  She wasn't nauseated any more, but she wasn't really hungry either.  She'd nibbled a little here and there, but nothing substantial.

"You should probably try."

She gave him a look.  "I'm getting tired of being told what I 'should' do."

"If you don't want it now, it will be available when you _are_ hungry.  You haven't had anything in almost twenty-four hours."

She moderated her reflexive retort.  "You're diplomatically saying that I get bitchy when I haven't eaten."

His expression didn't waver.  "I was suggesting that low blood might be making you feel worse than necessary, both physically and emotionally."  He paused. "Considering the circumstances you're allowed a certain amount of antisocial behavior."

"Let me know when my allowance runs out."

"Of course."

"Fine, I'll try to eat.  Then after that I go home and see if I can sleep in my usual surroundings."

"I don't think that's wise.  You should be monitored for lingering energies and effects for at least twenty-four hours."

Her eyebrows rose further.  "There's that 'should' again.  I thought you'd realized by now that I don't respond well to being told what I 'should' do."

"I figured that out the week Peter hired you."

"It doesn't seem to have stopped you trying to give me orders."  He was much more easily goaded than he used to be, and sometimes it was kind of fun.  Now it just escalated things.

"I am not giving you orders, I am trying to see to your well-being despite your resistance.  I could _try_ to give you orders, as I am _technically_ your employer, but I know better." He paused again, then continued in a more controlled tone.  "I am also something of an expert on the paranormal, and I have experience with situations like this, sometimes as the victim. I like to think that I'm also your friend, and that I know you well enough to tell that this has hit you hard.  I'm concerned about you."

That definitely hit her harder than she liked, and it took an effort not to start crying again.  It also irritated her when the person she was arguing with was so reasonable... and so right. Bastard.  Her capitulation must have been visible, because he relaxed. She raised an admonishing finger. "This isn't a total victory, Spengler.  I'll stay until dinner, but after that _I'll_ decide if I'm staying the rest of the night or not. In my own bed I might get a decent night's sleep."

"You won't get a decent night's sleep anywhere," he said bluntly.  "This isn't an experience you're going to just shrug off. Do you really think you're ready to be alone just yet?"  She _didn't_ particularly like the idea of being alone right now, but she'd be damned if she'd admit that.

"Who else can you tell you'd been turned into a giant insect?  Your family?" She made a face--they'd either have her committed or storm the firehouse.  "You're stuck with me."

She was tired and frustrated and didn't have the patience.  "Only until _I_ decide I'm going home." She shut the cabinet door a little harder than necessary and walked out of the room.


	4. yes I still need a title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it looked like more in the Google doc. I have some motivation and cause-and-effect to figure out before I get much further down the line.
> 
> Temperatures in Fahrenheit because Murrica. Though I suppose Egon could as easily give the appropriate numbers in Kelvin.
> 
> Did you know that if you tab out of the text box while it's empty a note pops up that says "Brevity is the soul of wit, but your content does have to be at least 10 characters long? I lol'd.

Janine was surprised when the smell of food made her mouth water.  Maybe eating wasn't a bad idea after all. She just prayed she wouldn't be suddenly sick in front of Egon again--once was enough.

Egon was unpacking a large bag of Chinese food containers when she arrived in the kitchen.  "So some dingy hole-in-the-wall Chinese joint gets your seal of approval, but the fancy-schmancy new French bistro does not."

"We've been eating here for years," Egon replied, as if that was all the explanation needed.  "I got a few different things since I didn't know what you might feel up to."

"I'm still not convinced I want food," she said, but her stomach was growling now.  She opened containers; noodles, dumplings, chunks of chicken with vegetables, congee.

"I thought that might be easier on your stomach," Egon said as she dished some out and sampled it.  It was good--thick and bland, but with a hint of ginger. There were no immediate signs of gastric revolt, and she added a dumpling and few noodles to her bowl.

"Thank you," she said.  She looked him fully in the eyes and realized just how tired he looked.  "Did _you_ sleep at all last night?"

 "A little."

Maybe that was what he'd been doing in the lab all day--napping.  It might also account for his unusual irritability. She started feeling guilty for deliberately antagonizing him.  "After dinner I'll go home and you can get some sleep."

He sighed and looked more tired.  "We've been over this."

"Yes, we have, and I haven't changed my mind.  I won't feel great no matter where I am, but there's no use _you_ suffering because of it."

"It would be less of a hardship if you'd stop fighting me.  I want to help, but sometimes it feels like you're deliberately making that harder."  She thought about just walking out... but she did feel bad that he hadn't slept, even though that part wasn't her fault.  She settled for huffing slightly. "At the very least I want to take some readings."

"Fine.  Then I go home."

"It's not as if I can stop you."  As he went to get the equipment she picked a few more noodles out of their container.  She wondered if he'd let her take some of the leftovers home.

"Hit me with your best shot," she said when he returned.  He spared her a glance over the rims of his glasses before turning his attention back to the screen of his PKE meter.

He went through four different devices before he spoke.  "Cohila's energy pattern is still strong, though the levels are dropping at a consistent rate.  It's still somewhat masking your own pattern, and I am not comfortable with--"

She rose and stood toe-to-toe with him, her arms folded across her chest.  "Comfortable" isn't a word that describes you on your best day, Egon. You said the levels are dropping, isn't that a good thing, or is there something crazy about the  readings that you're not telling me? I'd appreciate it very much if you'd tell me everything I need to know. Being kept in the dark isn't making me _more_ cooperative."

"It's dropping, but if it were a fever it would be as if it had gone from 103° to 102°--you should still be monitored.  You've been through a violent transformative episode, which is a significant physical and psychic trauma. I'm being cautious."  His posture was stiff and his tone was emphatic. He didn't look away from her stare.

The fact that he admitted to concern was unsettling.  She debated with herself while waiting to see if he'd back down.  He didn't. "Fine. Let me get some blankets, if I'm going to be having nightmares all night I might as well start early."  She headed for the spiral stairs, Egon not far behind.

"If you sleep on that couch you'll be in even more pain tomorrow."

"Oh no.  I'm not going to feel guilty about kicking you out of the bunkroom and making you sleep on the couch when _you're_ the one who insisted I had to be monitored."

"I didn't think that would be necessary."  The tension in his body dropped away and his gaze slid away from hers.  "We all went through it at one time or another and it was reassuring to know that there would be someone to wake us up if we needed it, who had an idea what it was like."  He adjusted his glasses.

She just stared at him, parsing his words.  Was he getting weird about sleeping in the same room?  "You look like you'd _prefer_ that one of us slept on the couch, and you're much too tall for that."

"It's been a long time since I had to share space with another human being."

Either her brain was still more addled than she knew or he wasn't making any damn sense.  "We've been in the same room together off and on for months and everything's been fine. I'm pretty sure I don't snore, and if you do I'll let you know.  Sleep wherever you're happiest." She went up the stairs alone. Seemed that was the only way she could end a conversation today.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still plugging away, very slowly.

Pain, nothing but pain, shifting and stretching and squeezing and _suffocating_.  She felt wrapped in hard plastic, bound around her ribcage, restricting her movements and limiting her oxygen--  She flailed against her bonds, still trying desperately to get enough air.

"Janine?"

Panic flared again as she gasped for breath, her lungs filling but not getting enough.  "You're hyperventilating," said a nearby voice. "Lie down, breathe slowly." Hands pushed on her shoulders and knees, trying to hold her down, pin her, and she struggled.  He had a bug's face, just lifted her like a doll, carrying her off-- "Janine, stop." The voice wasn't Greg's. She wanted to fight him but he kept talking, soothing her with his voice, the familiar deep voice that had already brought her back once before.  "You're here, you're safe, it's over. Try to breathe deeply." She managed to hold her breath for a few seconds before exhaling slowly, then inhaling again. The tightness around her chest eased and the sensations from the dream started to melt away. Her next breath shook.

She covered her face and felt the mattress shift.  Arms around her ( _carrying her off_ ), human arms, holding her, comforting her.  It was all too much and she started sobbing, burying her face in his shoulder. He didn't question, letting her cry herself out.

It felt like forever before she had control of herself again.  "I couldn't breathe," she managed, trying to explain herself.

"It's over now," he murmured.  "You're remembering."

She shuddered.  "It's not going to get better for a while, is it?"

"No."

She listened to her own breathing for a while, trying not to let anxiety creep back over her again.  "Why couldn't I breathe?"

"You may have been reliving your transformation--when you stopped using your lungs.  Insects don't breathe as we do."

"Great.  Do I get to feel my heart stopping next?"

"Some insects do have a rudimentary heart--"

She cut him off.  "Forget I asked anything.  Bug biology lessons aren't comforting."  She burrowed closer against him and willed herself to stop remembering for a while.

***

When she came groggily awake she was lying down and the room  was dark. She was still huddled against Egon's shoulder, feeling his warmth and his breathing and his heartbeat ( _cool, unyielding chitin_ ).  There was a blanket over them, and Egon was asleep. She nudged him until he let her go, then made her way into the bathroom.

The lights were painfully bright and supremely unflattering.  Her hair was wild, her face puffy and blotchy, her eyes red from crying and highlighted by deep black circles underneath.  She looked like she'd aged ten years in a day.

Washing her face and finger-combing her hair didn't really help.  She found a spare toothbrush and brushed her teeth; she still looked like hell, but now at least she had minty-fresh breath.  She wanted very much to get back into bed and curl up with Egon, where she felt safer, but she couldn't quite rationalize it to her own satisfaction.  She grabbed the blanket off the rumpled bed where Egon had apparently started the night and headed downstairs instead.

She couldn't settle and paced restlessly around the living room.  She wanted to fidget, keep moving, do something to keep herself busy and awake, but she was so tired.  She considered having some coffee, but decided it would only make her more nervous. Her brain was already going a mile a minute despite her body being exhausted, and she was slowly driving herself crazy.  Her skin was crawling again, and she kept flashing back to disorientation and confusion and a body that didn't feel right.

She sat down on the couch with her knees drawn up.  She started to wrap the blanket around herself, but it reminded her too much of the confinement of wing casings.  She draped it over her knees instead, tucking it loosely behind her shoulders. Maybe if she were sitting up when she fell asleep her brain wouldn't realize she was sleeping.

Janine found herself nodding off again, fading in and out of dreams, waking up every time her head fell forward.  The memories coming back now were too jumbled to be traumatic. _"You must come back!"_ Images were fragmented and sounds echoed strangely. There was a confusion of voices around her.  The light from a trap threw searing splinters across her fractured vision.  _"We'll never find another office manager like you!"_ Gregor was trying to command her, but Egon's voice, the only thread she could follow through it all, kept diverting her attention.  _"That's it, Janine! Kiss me!"_

She jerked awake again and blinked in confusion at Egon, who was standing in front of her.  Her eyes weren't quite willing to focus. "What?"

"I thought you would come back upstairs."

"That's not what you just said."  She stared at him for a moment, hoping the world would resolve into something she could understand, then closed her eyes, trying to sort real from remembered.  "I keep hearing you talking, but it's weird. Nonsensical."

"We realized there was enough of you still present to recognize us.  We hoped that if we could keep you focused on us instead of Cojila it would be easier to trap him and restore you.  Fortunately it worked." He sat next to her. "I really am very glad to have you back. I thought you--we'd--I thought I'd lost you."  He put a tentative arm on her shoulder.

The gesture was familiar, almost intimate, and so unlike him.  A lump rose in her throat and her breath shook again. She sagged against him and he put his arm fully around her.  "Try to sleep," he said.

"It's not easy."  She shifted a little sideways and drew her knees up; Egon draped the blanket over her.


End file.
